


Anniversary

by Deannie



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-09
Updated: 2002-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie





	1. Chapter 1

**_March 10, 1976_ **

"I just think you're asking for trouble here, Spengler."

Egon looks at me with that patented 'oh certainly you're joking' look of his, but I _know_ I have a valid point!

"In what way is this different from any of the ski trips we normally take each year?"

God, he's dense sometimes. "Egon," I explain carefully, watching him fold a sweater with military precision. "It's March. That's way too late to be skiing." He's a scientist, for God's sake. He's got to understand the basic seasons! "Plus there's the fact that you and Ray nearly _died_ at Thanksgiving." I try to stop the shudder that thought brings up, but I can't help it. It's barely been four months, and I can still remember every second of the flight out to Pennsylvania.

"Peter, it has been an exceptionally cold spring." Sure, Spengler. Use logic on me. It isn't going to shake that sick feeling in my stomach. He flexes his hand absently. "It was hardly a near-fatal incident and Ray and I are both well-recovered. It's a simple ski trip--what could go wrong?" Oh come on, you're not serious, right? He pegs me with a considered glare. "Or perhaps you are hoping for continued distractions to keep you from your research project?"

"That's not it at all, Spengler, and you know it." Okay, that's not _all_ of it. Sure, I'm sick to death of this goddamned paper, but I don't want him going--and not because him and Ray puttering around here is a great reason for me to play instead of work.

"I just don't see why you and Ray have to do this at all--not so soon."

He stops his packing and looks at me, way too much understanding in his eyes. "Peter, I know this is a difficult time for you--"

"Oh can it, Spengler." Let's not go there, shall we? "This has nothing to do with Mom. I just think--"

"Egon, are you ready to go yet?" Ray's way-too-perky comment breaks the mood, and I know I'm licked. But I'm not letting them go alone.

"Give me ten minutes, Stantz," I tell him, watching Egon's shock as I head for my room. "I'm coming with." Ray looks at me with a smile blooming, and I knock his arm on my way out. "You two aren't fit to be off your leashes yet," I remind him. "And I'm damn sure going to keep an eye on you this time."

I just hope to hell I don't regret it.

* * *

Peter has been far too quiet on the ride up, and I fear this was not the most brilliant idea I have ever had. I had hoped he would come along--though I was never so obvious as to invite him--because I hoped to keep him busy this weekend. Losing his mother last year was devastating for him, and I have noticed a tendency in him to drift off into a world no doubt strewn with a longing for her and a wish that things could be different.

Were we to go without him, no doubt he would have spent the weekend smoking and drinking his way through his memories. I almost smile at the thought--he told me, he _promised me_ he'd stopped smoking for New Year's... regardless of the cigarette butts he's been hiding in the dumpster.

Yet I know there is a part of him that is... content... with the outcome of his mother's illness. She spent three years battling the cancer, and toward the end, he was probably the only comfort left to her. He told me, after we returned home from that too-memorable Thanksgiving outing, that he was glad she had finally escaped the pain. But I don't think he has. And he is not likely to for some time.

"Hey, Kid, watch the road, not the girl, okay?"

His ready quip is a bit strained, and I know that the spectre of having Ray drive us is bringing up memories of the other great trauma of this past year. But he must get over it all sooner or later, and the fact that Ray has been much more restrained than usual in his driving seems to be putting Peter somewhat more at ease.

"Spengs, you're going overheat with all that brain power, you know?"

I look over at him from my seat behind Raymond, and see the faint twinkle in his eyes. Damn him. He is probably fully aware of what I'm thinking--a fact that no doubt scares him considerably more than it does me. Three and a half years of friendship hasn't quite cured him of his universal distrust, but he trusts me, and I can only hope that will make all the difference in helping him weather this current storm.

* * *

"And I'm pretty sure he never saw it coming."

Ray's bouncing like a slinky as he tells us about the latest engineering department escapade, and his girlfriend is just eating it up. Shelly's been with him for more than a year now, and I'm almost starting to trust her with him. Not that Ray can't take care of himself or anything, but... Hell, he's my kid brother in all but name and blood, and I worry about him getting hurt.

Damn, that just sounds _weird_! Who'd have thought I'd be worrying about anybody like that? Charlie would be so disappointed in me--which is as good a reason as any to keep going with this, I guess.

This lodge halfway up the mountain is bustling with people--guess Spengs isn't the only one who thinks spring is the time to play snowbunny. He's sipping at his cocoa, frowning a little as he swallows. "Not as good as Mom's huh, Spengs?"

He shoots me a look filled with that ever-present irritation. Why he ever bothered with me is just a mystery--and even Leonard Nimoy wouldn't touch this one for _In Search Of_.

"The cocoa is quite satisfactory, Peter." Yeah, sure it is, Egon. You guard your mom's recipe like it was the crown jewels. Wish my mom had been able to make cocoa like that...

Well, shit. I figured I was going to be able to go a whole day without thinking about her. Mom'd kick my butt if she knew I was sitting here, in the beauty of southern Vermont, sunk in thoughts of her. She died--she's gone... But sometimes, I wonder whether she isn't just hanging around, watching me. It's been a year to the day, and I still feel like she's right around the corner. I could just call to her and...

"Peter?"

Whoops! Gotta keep your eye on the ball, Venkman. Egon's looking at me with patented Spengler concern--or rather, _Katharine Spengler_ concern. He seems to have gotten everything but his brains from his mom--and I'm not sure he didn't get the lion's share of that from her, too. She's a smarter cookie than you'd ever think. She's just eclipsed a little by the wonder that is the Spengler male line.

"I'm fine, Spengs," I mutter, taking a sip of my own cocoa. It really isn't as good as his mom's. "Just thinking."

Ray gives me a sad little look before turning back to Shelly, delving into their new conversation about... God, some weird philosophical-religious-occult thing he's into right now. Maybe she can deal with him because she _is_ a philosophy major? God knows we never figured that hyper kid would find himself a girl who could keep up with him. Maybe Shelly just lets the words wash over her sometimes, like Spengler and I do.

 

Because Ray is worth it, mark my words. I remember last year, just after the funeral... He was kind of quiet that first few days after... after. Like he didn't want to bother me--or like he was so wrapped up in memories of his own parents that he didn't want to share the pain. But I was just kind of... sitting in my room doing nothing when he walked in, sat down, and gave me a hug.

"What's that for, kid?" Not that I hadn't needed it. I needed all the support I could get back then, and I wasn't too ashamed to mention it--as long as it was just to Egon and Ray.

"Because I needed it then just as much as you do now."

I... Mom was all I had for a lot of years. Sure, Charlie tried to be there when he could--he even showed up for the funeral--but he wasn't to be trusted. I'd learned that lesson, but good, around the age of four. But Mom and me? We were a team--us against the universe. No matter what happened--who I fought, where I ended up, how I got slammed--Mom was always there.

And I owed it to her to take care of things when she wasn't anymore. I didn't cry. I didn't weep and wail and bemoan my fate... I just took care of things. She had enough left at the end to pay for the burial, and I scrounged enough for a nice headstone. She'd have liked it--all black marble and fine, silver letters. Even had a couple of roses carved in... I was doing everything she needed me to do. Everything Charlie _should_ have done.

But apparently, Ray knew better than I did that I wasn't doing what I needed for me. So I sat there on my bed, four days after her death, and bawled like a baby in his arms until I didn't have anything left.

And when I woke up the next morning... things were better.

And Egon and Ray were still there.

 

"So," I say brightly. Mom must be giving me a ghostly kick in the rear, because I already feel better. "What's say we hit the slopes a couple more times before dinner?"

Ray turns so red, I bite back a laugh. Now I see why he was so glad I was coming--gotta have somebody around to keep Egon out of the room, right?

Shelly breaks in, not quite as red as he is. Still, she's Italian--how red can she get, really? "I think we've had it for the day." Well, at least the _outdoor_ sports, huh, Shell? "Maybe we'll just head back to the cabin and relax."

Egon puts down his mug, looking over at them with the oblivious gaze of a man who's never _thought_ of what else there is to do on a lonely mountaintop. "Well, perhaps we could all--"

"We're skiing, Spengler," I tell him roughly, giving Ray an encouraging smile as I drag the clueless one away. "See you two kids later." I grin wickedly, watching Ray go from red to fushcia. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Which leaves them more than enough rope to hang themselves.

* * *

Really. Peter can be... most exasperating.

"...'Cause I'm starting to wonder if we need to get _you_ a girlfriend, Spengler."

Will he never give this up? Should I even bother to hope?

We step off the chairlift in unison, sliding comfortably down the plank to the top of another black diamond. Peter somehow manages to get me to these heights, which I am sure I would never attempt without him at my side. Even after three years of twice-yearly ski trips, I am hardly the most... graceful... of skiers.

"How could you not realize--"

"Peter," I break in coldly. "I believe you should seek the better part of valor and cease this discussion at once."

He smiles at me, and I hide my own grin. I can sacrifice a _bit_ of dignity, I suppose. At least he's not thinking of his mother...

"Okay, Spengs, just for you."

The sun is finally beginning to set beyond the mountain, and I fear this might be our last run of the day. I was never one for sports before I met Peter, but I do find these ski trips to be very relaxing--particularly given the difficult year we've just been through.

"Hey, Egon?"

I look up from my perusal of the slope to find him watching me closely, a ghost of a smile still playing about his lips.

"Thanks for this."

The gratitude is genuine and fully understood by us both. But it won't do to dwell on it--he'll only retreat. Grinning in response, I push off and head down the slope.

"Last one down buys dinner for all four of us!"

"Hey, Spengs!" His voice is nearly whipped away by the increasing wind of my passing. "Who said I brought my wallet?!"

* * *

We're halfway down the slope when he buys it. One big, spectacular Spengler snowball, complete with curses I'm sure he learned from me.

I could win the bet if I just kept on... Nah, who am I kidding?

"You okay, Spengs?"

He's dusting himself off, looking disgustedly at the state of his parka while he snaps his skis back in place. "I believe I only managed to damage my pride, Peter."

"Some girls say that's your best part." Oh come on! Like I could let that pass?

"Peter, I'm sure you meant to--"

Okay, that... that is not a good sound.

The rumble that cut off Egon's quip is growing, and I can barely force myself to look back up the mountain. It can't be coming down the main slopes. It's just a random slide--off in the out-of-bounds section, right?

Egon grabs up his poles and lurches to his feet. There's a huge roll of white above us that says that avalanche isn't heading for anyone but us.

"Peter, ski!" Putting action to words, he starts off back down the mountain.

"Egon, you know we can't outrun one of these, right?" Still, I'm barreling down the slope with him. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or a dollar. Whatever.

"I'm not attempting to outrun it, Peter," he shouts over the building noise. "I'm looking for-- _there_!"

He points, still skiing for all he's worth, and I see what he wanted. There's a cave... It looks small, but--

"Come on." He pushes off harder. And he said he couldn't ski! "We don't have much time."

Again with the obvious! We're almost there--and I'm trying like hell not to look behind me as I kick off my skis--when it's here. A solid wall of snow and branches and-- _shit_ \--whole trees!

"Egon, move it!"

And like an idiot, what does he do? Turns back to me! "Jesus, Spengler, just go!"

"Peter, look--"

A branch--or something... Fuck, that hurts! God da....

* * *

I grab for him, pulling with all my might as another branch--larger than the one that impacted with his skull--slams into us both, almost breaking my grip on him. I'm at the mouth of the cave now... Just a little more...

Six feet in... safe. And Peter's got a weak hold on my jacket as the snow and debris slam past the opening. At least he's semi-conscious.

At least he's _here_.

I hold on to him, close my eyes, and wait for the world to stop moving.

 

As the roar of the avalanche finally dies down, I realize that Peter's grip on me has relaxed completely.

"Peter?"

Utter darkness and a motionless weight on my chest are the only answers I get. I lay him out flat. God, I hope those branches didn't do too much damage. The small one, the one that hit him in the head...

"Peter!"

I reach down, feeling across his chest. He's breathing... the pulse at his neck is steady, if a little rapid. I run my hands over his coat, digging into the pockets. It's got to be here somewhere... Out here, we'd hardly have caught him at it...

"Egon?"

His voice is a good deal less steady than his pulse, but at least he's conscious. Now if I could only find what I'm looking for...

"Yes, Peter. I'm here."

He snorts, the exhalation laced with pain. "Figured that--anyone else would be groping me with a little more abandon." He falls silent a moment, and I wonder whether he is afraid to speak, or simply cannot work up the energy.

"Um... It's dark, right?"

Some day, I will discover the reason behind Peter's irrational fear of blindness. I put a hand to his forehead. Too warm already... "Yes, Peter. Very."

"So I'm not, like, blind or anything?"

I attempt a dry tone. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Oh thanks, Spengler. That helps." He tries to squirm away, though I can hear the pain it causes. "Never knew you were such a grabber, Egon." He sighs painfully. "So, what you're saying is, I could see if..."

"If you would simply tell me where your lighter is, instead of forcing me to lay hands on you this way," I shoot back in exasperation.

"What lighter?" Amazing how he can pack such innocence into so much guilt.

I sit back for a moment, leaving one hand on his chest. "Peter, I know very well you haven't stopped smoking--it's painfully obvious every time I exit the back door of our apartment."

He chuckles softly. "Busted." The soft movement of his down parka is suddenly cut off by a quiet oath. "Oh, _damn_ that hurts."

"Peter?" I wish I could _see_ him!

"Um, Egon... It's in the inside pocket of my parka, on the right. I've... got kind of a problem."

"Which is?" This man would try the patience of the entire pantheon of saints.

"My arm..." He hisses tightly, and I close my eyes to the darkness in sympathy.

"Broken?"

"If it's broken on top of bleeding this bad, I've got bigger problems than I thought."

The ready quip is marginally reassuring, but the decreasing strength of his words is definitely not. I reach forward, feeling carefully for his zipper, and finally unearth his lighter. It's unlikely to give us more than a few minutes of light, but it should be enough for me to make an assessment.

"You got it?"

I murmur positively, gripping the small metal box in a cold fist as I hear him rise painfully on one elbow. The light that springs up sputters briefly before cutting a tiny opening in the darkness, but it is more than enough for me to get a look at just what Peter has done to himself.

"Can't see so well, Egon," he grits, and I can tell just this small glare hurts him. I fear I will be nursing him through another concussion during our stay. "What's it look like?"

Well... at least he doesn't seem to have more than a large knot on his forehead, but his arm... "You... are bleeding quite a bit."

"Oh shit. Coming from you, that's..." He eases all the way back down, his lips tight, his throat swallowing convulsively. "Bad."

I might actually call this very bad. He did break it. And the tatters of skin and flannel and nylon that cover his deformed forearm are impressive, decorated as they are by random tufts of goose feather. The light isn't sufficient... I don't _think_ I see bone...

"Peter, can you hold the lighter for a moment?"

I know he can hear at least a bit of the worry in my tone, but I trust him to realize that we have no time for panic. If I am to get him out of here and to proper medical attention, I need us both to remain calm.

He rises to the occasion, the flame dousing briefly as we transfer it to his undamaged left hand, and I proceed to strip off my layers of clothes. My thermal top should make an absorbent bandage.

"You okay?"

He has his eyes closed, but his voice is thick with the effort to stay awake. I let him forego sight for the moment--God knows _I_ don't want to see this, either. How am I going to get that arm out of his coat?

"I'm fine," I reply, though breathing deeply and looking at the mottled state of my torso, I'm relatively certain that branch cracked at least one rib. His eyes slit open in doubt, but I don't think any of the bruises I acquired while pulling him to safety are visible to him in this light. And I'm not entirely sure he could focus well enough to see them if they were.

"Peter... I have to get to your arm."

"Oh. Joy." He steels himself, but...

"Damnit. We can't do this."

"Why not!"

I will have to choose my words more carefully. Pain and darkness have put him closer to the edge of panic than I first assumed. "You need to hold the lighter for me, Peter, and I doubt you'll be able to do so--"

"While I'm screaming in agony. Gotcha." He sighs, his eyes dropping closed again. "Egon... I can't really feel it anymore, anyway."

The admission is quiet, and terrified. He's worried by the numbness, though he should be glad of it at this point.

 

"I'm almost certain you'll be able to feel it when I move you."

"Almost certain, huh?" Still, a modicum of tension eases out of him, and he grins up at me, looking through pain-filled green. "So what do we do?"

I'll have to leave him alone for a minute...

"Are you dizzy?"

He chuckles, weaker this time. "No exam needed, Dr. Spengler." The sigh he lets loose now is the reassuringly martyred one he saves for his least serious injuries. "I been here enough times, I think I can rate my own concussion... Just mild: blurred vision, pulsating pain, the ever-popular nausea..."

"Do you remember what happened?" I believe this can be dealt with by direct pressure... I hope. I don't know how long we'll be here, and I can't risk a tourniquet--unless I have to. But first, I'll have to get him out of that parka-- "Peter!?"

His eyes snap open. I wonder how he managed to keep the lighter lit?

"What?"

"Do you remember what happened?" I repeat slowly.

He's silent a moment. "Oh yeah... maybe more than mild, then."

My sigh cuts off with a short cough. "What _do_ you remember?" I swear it's growing colder. I'll have to come up with something to start a fire... soon.

"Cocoa... And then we hit the trail with--" He bolts up, turning green in the second I see him before he drops the lighter. "Ray!?" His left hand grips mine, warm from the flame. "Egon, where is he?"

"He and Shelly went down to the cabin, Peter," I remind him, taking hold of his shoulders. "Please lie back."

His voice is decidedly rocky now, as he struggles away from me. "Not sure I'm gonna be able--"

I hope that vomiting doesn't feel as bad as it sounds... or smells.

"Spengs?" he calls, voice weak and rusted as he fights past the dry heaves.

"Yes, Peter?" I move forward carefully, feeling my way. But, courteous as usual, Peter has managed to make his mess away from me, and I only encounter his right shoulder.

"Any chance we could run out of air?"

I smile in the darkness. I'd better find that lighter again soon, just to make sure, but from the acoustics, this cave is a great deal larger than it looked. "I think it more likely we'll die from the cold first."

"Soon?"

"Is that a request?" I have hold of him firmly now, and shift him back toward the wall, trying not to set off another spell of heaving.

"Could be. Especially if _that_ happens again."

"I'm sorry to upset your plans, Peter, but I happen to have a date next week." I grin at his snort of surprise. "I don't plan to miss it because you couldn't handle one more concussion."

"You're all heart, Spengler." I can hear him moving... It must be his left arm, because I have his right in my--

"Let there be light." He grins up at me in the pitiful glare, and he looks... truly horrible.

"Peter, do I have to explain again that you are not a god?"

"That's not what the girls say."

That ego... "It depends on the girls to whom you're referring, Peter. I know a number of them--"

His bark of pain cuts me off. I have to find _something_ to splint that arm.

"Peter, lie still, all right? Don't move." I reach for the lighter, but he moves it further from me, faint fear growing in his eyes. "Peter, I have to find something for your arm."

"Why?" Fear _and_ confusion... He's drifting. "My arm's fine."

"Peter." Even semi-conscious, he obeys my tone. "I _am_ almost a doctor, remember?"

He hands over the lighter reluctantly, and I move beyond him, hoping for some flotsam that I can use to set the bone.

"You're a fizzlist, though, Egon. You can't even play a doctor on TV."

"I'm quite an accomplished actor, actually." There is a good deal of debris in here... much of it dry.

"Yep." Damn. His voice is slurring. "Being acting human for years now, haven't you?"

"Since not long after I left the pod, Peter." This is all I can carry and hope to keep the flame up.

"Ha! Knew I'd get you to fess up sooner or..."

"Peter?"

Damn.

"Peter!?"

I almost drop the branches on him in my haste, but his eyes are fluttering open again. Is this blood loss, or the head injury, I wonder? Does it matter?

"Hey Speng...ler." He looks around, and I doubt he can see very much--even with the lighter. "Aren't we gonna light a fire, or something?"

"As soon as I get some firewood together, Peter," I assure him. Talking to him should help keep him awake. Shouldn't it?

"Well hurry up, 'Gon." Irritability. One of Peter's less endearing post-concussive traits. "Come on! Twigs, branches. Rub a couple of sticks together--I mean, weren't you ever a Boy Scout?"

"No, Peter," I reply calmly, piling the wood. These two are relatively straight... I'll reserve them for his arm. "And I seriously doubt you were, either."

"Oh, well, that goes without saying." His weakened voice turns wistful. "Wish Ray was here--Ray!" I grab him before he can try to sit up again.

"He's fine, Peter. He and Shelly are at the cabin. Remember?" Of course he doesn't. Still, he lies back again, eyes closed as I try to light the fire.

"Good. Least somebody's getting some action this weekend..."

Start. Start, damnit...

"Hey Egon?"

"Yes, Peter?" Start!

"You discover fire, yet? I could use one right now... And some cocoa."

If we were not currently trapped in less than ideal circumstances, I swear, I would--"Finally!"

Peter's eyes swing open fuzzily in the much better light of the growing blaze beside him.

"Is this where we sing Kumbya?"

I sit back from the building flames, and steel myself. Perhaps it's better that he's less than conscious again. God, I wish I had a knife. Perhaps Ray has the right idea with that--never know when you might need one.

"Peter?"

I wish his eyes didn't focus with quite so much awareness in them. "Crunch time, huh?"

I offer a small smile--less than he'll need for this. "I believe crunch time has passed--that's the reason we're here, remember?"

"No." The candid response catches me off guard, and I check his eyes. They are completely unfocused now. Perhaps that's better. "Egon? This is gonna hurt, huh?"

Both of us, Peter. Trust me.

He screams only once as I take his arm in my hand, a choked sound that I can hardly bear to hear.

Oh my God... That really is... a lot of blood...

* * *

Okay, _that_ was less than fun.

That might actually have been as far way from fun as I've ever gotten--and around Charlie, let me tell you, fun is far, far away...

"Peter? Can you hear me?"

Don't _even_ try to get me to talk, Egon. Not even with that tone. Petey's going to float away now... Hell... of a lot better places... with cocoa...

"Peter, please?"

'Gon... warning you... Good... No talking is... is good... AW SHIT! "Egon!"

"I'm sorry, Peter... I'm sorry..."

Shit, now he sounds like I kicked his dog... or Ray. Ray? Isn't he supposed to be here? "Egon, where's Ray?"

Egon's hands are always warm. Don't know why that is, really. Just... always warm... Forehead likes that... "Ray's at the cabin, Peter. He's all right... And you will be too."

Sure, if you stop fucking with that arm... Isn't it supposed to be numb...

Or is that bad?

"Peter? I'm going to go over to the cave mouth for a second, okay?" Whatever. "I'm going to get something to help with the pain... Just sit tight." Sit tight. What are you, Hawkeye? Or... damn, no, that's like something a TV detective would say, huh? Sit...

 

Oh _damn_ that's cold!

"What the he--?"

"The snow will bring down the swelling, Peter..." Egon, don't get yourself in a tizzy, okay, man? "Please... it'll numb the area..."

 _What_ has got him so worked... up?

Eyes are open... That's good, right? So why's Egon look so worried?

"...Egon... What's wrong... with...?"

Warm hand again. Kinda wet, though... He's got one on my neck too--some fingers, anyway... So if I feel another one, that's not him.

"You broke your arm, Peter." He's all scared... that sucks. "I've managed.... most of the bleeding, but you've got a.... clearly..."

Huh?

Whatever.

"...me, Peter?" Okay, hands--even warm hands? Not for slapping. Got that? "Peter, you have to try to stay awake."

Yeah, like _that's_ gonna happen! Myth, anyway... I can sleep if I...

COLD!!!!

Jesus, Spengler, you drop one more snowball down my shirt, and I'll--

"Peter!"

"...flush your mold. Got it?"

"If you can bother to remain conscious... hours in a day..."

"Egon?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Did you know you're... any sense?"

He should patent that sigh... Really--great sigh... Wonder who he practiced on before me? "...make more... talk to me..."

I can always do that. Better than Ray, sometimes... Ray... "He's at the cabin... right?"

"Yes, Peter. Ray is at the cabin." You don't have to act like I'm _two_ , Spengler!

"So... why is there a cabin?" Don't we live in a...

"We're on our ski trip, Peter... lanche..."

Huh? Ski trips are fun, though. This can't...

"Peter, _please_?"

Fine. You want talk, I'll talk. "No more ski trips."

Eyes open again... still all worked up... smiling, though. That's a plus. "I believe we will simply have to plan them better. Perhaps you were right, after all. If we had gone a bit earlier in the year..."

"Or to, like--Jersey." Even Jersey can't be this bad. "Hey, Spen... are we here, again?"

"It... it was perhaps not the best idea, after all."

Oh great. It was your idea, huh? I'm gonna kill you when I get my hands on you.

Well, at least the one hand I got left...

* * *

Peter giggles a little weakly to himself, and I feel the knot in my stomach grow harder. He's even less lucid than he was after his concussion last year. It has to have something to do with the... large... amount of blood he lost--is still losing, albeit more slowly. Hopefully the ice I have packed around the wound will slow the bleeding as much as it will the swelling.

And it can hardly have been pleasant for him when I set that arm. At least the bones _weren't_ showing--the collection of deep cuts was obviously caused by that last branch...

It's going to be a very long time before they find us. It's going to be too long.

"Egon..." His voice seems a very long time in coming. "Why are we here?"

He's not processing anything. "We were on our ski trip, Peter, remember? There was an avalanche."

"So... we're in the snow?" His eyes crack open incredulously. "Can you... build a campfire in the snow?"

"We found a cave, Peter." A fact he'll no doubt forget in the next sixty seconds. "Just in time."

"Just in time..." He sighs deeply. "Tha's good." There's a long moment of silence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and his labored breathing. He's falling asleep again. I have to--

"Think Ray'll get here just in time, Egon?"

The wistful note in his voice turns my stomach--because I don't think he wants to hear the truth.

"Didn't think so, either..."

Oh, Peter.

If there was just some way to keep him awake--to keep him focused...

"Peter?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you so afraid of being blind?" It's at least something to make him think.

"Cause then I couldn't see." I chuckle involuntarily at his quick response, but his eyes open a fraction, and I can feel him watching me closely. My God, he's almost lucid. "You can tell a lot by watching, Egon," he says seriously. "Even more than just by listening."

"Well you certainly wouldn't know about the latter," I shoot out, trying desperately to engage him in something approaching normalcy.

"I listen." His voice is heavy... with thought, though. Not with sleep. I wonder if his previous disjointedness was due to the pain...? "More than you think I do."

I turn more fully to look at him. He is rarely this open--even with me. I came to realize rather quickly in the early days of our relationship that he works very hard to appear uncaring, untouched by the hurts life has foisted on him. His father, his upbringing... I suppose I must have seemed quite... protected... to him in the beginning.

And the fact that he knows exactly how difficult this "life of privilege" has been for me is testimony to his listening skills.

"I believe you listen quite a bit, Peter," I respond, refuting my earlier quip. "In fact, I fear you never _stop_ listening--even when you should."

His face breaks into a sad smile. "Think I don't take my own medicine, huh, Egon?" His sigh is labored, and I risk pulling his head slowly into my lap while trying not to dislodge the makeshift icepack. The movement takes the pressure off of his tired lungs, and his breathing eases. He seems almost instantly a bit better.

"I know all about my trauma, Spengs." His eyes close again, but only for a moment. "Maybe a little too much."

"That's why you went into psychology in the first place, isn't it?" I ask, unwilling to forego this chance to comprehend him more fully. "To understand yourself better?"

He shrugs, and I hold on to him as he shivers through the pain of it. "Maybe. Maybe I just figured nobody else should have to spend their life this screwed up."

I cannot stand the hint of self-loathing in his voice. "I think you've done very well for yourself."

A grin, filled with a satisfaction that is too often faked, suffuses his features. "I haven't messed it up too bad, huh?" His left hand reaches around to grasp my arm. "Got you to thank for that." He shivers suddenly, and it isn't the pain. A quick look at his arm tells me he isn't losing _much_ more blood. "Damn, it's cold in here."

It isn't, really. Possibly a bit colder than is comfortable, but the snow is actually insulating us, keeping in the warmth of our small fire. Of course, his arm is cased in ice now, perhaps that is the reason... I tighten my grip around him, sliding him a little further into my lap.

"I think that's the blood loss, Peter," I whisper gently. "You'll be all right."

He cranes his head up to look at me, and the puzzlement in his face disturbs me all over again. "Where am I losing blood?"

My sigh is completely involuntary, brought on by the exhaustion creeping over me, and the fear I have for him. "You hurt your arm in the avalanche, Peter." I close my eyes to my next word. "Remember?"

He's silent a moment, watching me with vague, unfocused eyes. "No..." His voice is full of regret. "No, I don't, Egon, but I'm not supposed to, right? Branch meets skull?"

I look down at him carefully. "You remember that?"

His smile goes some way toward helping me regain my equilibrium. "Yeah... Bits and pieces." He lays back, relieving what I am sure must have been an uncomfortable pressure in his head. "I like skiing, right?" he asks, closing his eyes. "What am I, crazy?"

I can't help but laugh... Laugh, and believe that he just might make it until help arrives. God, I'm already tired.

"Very probably, Peter. Very probably."

* * * 


	2. Chapter 2

I feel like I've been floating for a long, long time...

"Peter?!"

I can't feel my arm. At all.

"Peter, please wake up... _Please_!"

I crack an eyelid, and the angle that Egon's face is at makes me queasy for a second. He must have put me back on the ground--probably why I feel like I'm suffocating. Maybe if I move really slowly... I can just--

"Peter! Thank God. Don't move."

"Um, Egon?" His face is only rosy from the firelight bouncing off of it. Damn. Never seen him this close to a meltdown before. "I can't breathe down here."

He pulls me back into his lap immediately, and I take a deep breath. Ah, oxygen! Can't beat that with a stick!

"Peter, I'm sorry, I... I fell asleep, and when I woke up--"

Man! Damage control unit, front and center.

"I'm okay, Egon... I feel better."

And I do. Not that I'm ready for anything more energetic than, say, breathing, but I can almost think without my head falling off.

He's already pulling himself together, and I turn as much as I can, trying to keep eye contact--let him know I'm okay. "It... was difficult to wake you," he breathes.

"More difficult than two a.m. after the Princeton game?" While I don't actually _remember_ that night, Egon and Ray had a lot to say on the matter. Guess they didn't take to having to pinch me awake while I professed my undying love to... God, I don't even remember that particular figment's name. Brain injury. Gotta love it!

His smile loosens something in my chest. "Perhaps not that difficult, but..." But I still scared the shit out of him.

Course, I'm pretty freaked myself, given that we're sort of stuck here for the duration. An avalanche is a crazy thing--I doubt anyone even knows where to start looking... Man, what is it with Spengler and monumental accidents? Car accidents, _boat_ accidents--broken water mains, even! If there's a catastrophe waiting to happen, Egon's there. Hell, I'd be terrified to have him in a tall building--just think of the splat he'd make!

And yet somehow, I'm usually right beside him. Well, me or Ray--

Ray! Where's-- Wait, hang on... I know this one. Ray's down at the cabin. He's safe...

It's just me that's screwed.

And Egon's coming right along for the ride--for a change. Still, I guess it's better than him being squashed like a bug, huh? And we've got shelter. He'll be fine until they dig us out. He's got a fire going, he's got snow for water--

Oh, wow...

"Egon?"

My voice shakes him out of some heavy thoughts, I guess, because his legs jerk underneath me. Okay... Sometimes I _can_ feel my arm. I suppose even excruciating pain at least lets you know you're alive.

"Yes, Peter?" His eyes are just... God, now I know how his molds feel.

"Thirsty? 'Cause I sure am." I flash a smile that usually gets one from him, but he's still watching me, trying to figure out how with it I am. I wonder what I've been like? I don't remember much past him... doing that stuff to my arm. Speaking of...

"And I think, if you bring back some more snow for this--" I point to it. If you think I'm moving it, you're dead wrong-- "I'd probably give you my first born."

His face almost crumples into the grin, and he looks around. For what?

"Peter, would you be more comfortable against the wall, maybe?"

"I'm pretty comfortable right here."

His eyes dim slightly, and I wonder what I missed. "Unless you're telekinetic as well as psychic, I need to move."

Oh. Yeah. Okay.

Moving is less than fun, but I think I do nicely--I haven't screamed once. Course, right now, I'm way too tired to scream--I could use another day or so of sleep. And now I can keep an eye on him as he heads over to the new snow door.

"I'm not, Egon." I just want him to know that right now.

"Not what?" He's grabbing a few handfuls of snow, and I think he's using his parka to do it. Hard to tell with these eyes, but... Shouldn't he be wearing that? He's into the layer thing, so he's got _everything_ on, but it's freezing in here!

"Peter?" Yeah, what? "What are you not?"

What am I not... Is that like the questions we ask on the psych exams? Sounds more like philosophy... Shelly could tell him what I'm not. That's probably a lot of things, though. For one, I know I'm not...

"Peter, are you awake?"

How'd he get over here so quick?

"Is there even the least possibility that you could help me here?"

That warrants a laugh if anything ever did! "Being stuck in an avalanche is the only new experience I'm trying today, Egon."

Oh! COLD!

"Damn! Don't need to turn me into a snowman, Egon!" Like my arm needs anything else to happen to it. It already came off at the elbow--nothing like freezing the rest of it.

"Peter, look at me for a moment, please?"

Shit! Cold hands! Cold WET hands! All slimy! "I don't need your help turning my head, you know?"

What's the saying? Cold hands, warm heart? So... What's it mean if your hands are warm, then?

Aren't his hands supposed to be warm?

* * *

"Egon? Where are _your_ hands?"

Damnit! He seemed lucid for a moment when he woke, but now... His eyes are even more unfocused. In this uncertain light, it's impossible to tell whether they are equal and responsive.

"Peter..." My sigh is probably more explosive than it needs to be. This is hardly his fault, yet there is a niggling suspicion in the back of my mind that somehow, Peter is always able to make things harder than they have to be. Being trapped in here is bad enough--being trapped when he is obviously even more badly injured than I first assumed...?

"I'm not psychic."

His statement catches me completely off-guard, and tightens the cold knot in my stomach. "What?"

"You said if I was teleknic as well as psychic... I'm not."

Ah, of course--he's still four or five topics behind. It's an old argument between us, stemming from the card tests he ran in undergraduate. He rated extremely high--far higher than anyone working on the study would have liked. I clearly remember his griping about the test results being thrown off by his score.

"I would hope that, if you were psychic, you would have avoided this situation entirely." The cave is a bit cooler now, and I pull the tatters of his parka closer around him.

"That assumes precongintive ability."

"Precognitive, Peter." Why am I bothering to correct him?

"Yeah. See, psychic, precog... they're not necessarily the same thing. Like those ghosties of yours. There's a difference between a class four and a class six, right?"

I sigh. Peter's constant derision of the work that Ray and I have been doing on ectoplasmic entities... "Yes, Peter, there's a significant difference."

"Don't get all patient with me, Spengs..." His voice trails off, and I shake him, wincing as he lets out a sharp bark of pain. "Damn thing's never going to heal if you don't leave it alone!"

It's never going to heal if I don't get him out of here.

Looking around, I realize that I can see more of the cave than I could before. My eyes have adjusted to the low light somewhat, and I can see what look like small openings toward the back of the cavern. Perhaps...

"Peter, could you stay awake for just five minutes?"

He rolls his eyes, hissing immediately as the action no doubt sets off his headache. "Come on... can't do that... at home..." Still, he flashes a grin that is almost painfully normal. "But I'll give it a try."

I leave him propped against the wall, and head toward the other end of the cave, taking one burning branch from the fire as a makeshift torch.

"Peter?" I must keep him talking. "Why is it that you refuse to believe in ghosts? I have seen your belief in psychic ability grow over the past few years..."

"Got proof of that, Spengs." His voice is growing weaker again... My God, even if there is a way out through these passages, I doubt I could find it before... It's a moment before I notice the silence.

"Peter?"

I turn, heading back toward him swiftly, before one word, dropping softly from his lips, freezes me.

"Mom?"

* * *

Okay, this is weird. What's Mom doing on one of my ski trips? And isn't she just a little underdressed in that pant suit?

"Peter?"

Her voice sounds kind of funny--too deep--but the smile is just her, and I can feel the cool press of her hand on my forehead. Always so wonderfully cool--much better than a cold washcloth when I'm sick. She always takes such good care of me.

"Don't feel so good, Mom." Egon's bending over me on the other side, and he's saying something, but... But Mom's here.

_Peter... my little man._

Aw, jeez. Come on, Mom. I'm, like, 23 now... Not little anymore.

"Peter, can you hear me?"

"Course I can, Spengs, shut up a minute." Mom's trying to say something. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?

_Peter... you have to get up..._

I shake my head, watching Mom and Egon and the whole world dance. Kind of cool. Egon never got a chance to dance with Mom. I never took her to any of the swank parties...

Not before...

"Peter, please..."

I said shut up, Egon... Mom? What did you want to say?

_You have to leave here, honey. It's too cold._

Yeah, it's cold all right... I shift a little, but my arm doesn't want to work, and I can't exactly get up without it.

"Egon? Give... me a hand..."

He grabs my left hand, but he's freaking, seriously. I wonder why. Mom's here. She'll fix everything.

Mom? Where're you going? "Don't leave again!"

"Oh, God, Peter..." Chill out, Spengs.

I stagger a little as I gain my feet, and Egon keeps trying to pull me back down. I want to push him away, but I can't seem to figure out how.

_Peter... come with me. Come on. Follow me, dear..._

Mom's soft voice draws me forward, and she walks back to stand next to me, taking my right arm. Damn, she's amazing. It doesn't even hurt when _she_ touches it! It's kind of cold, though...

There's a light--bright, warm... I like warm...

"Peter, please... Just... come back and sit by the fire. _Please_." No way, Egon. Damnit... Mom, can't you tell him to just calm down? If he freaks out, I don't think I can make it out of here. I mean, you can't carry me, like when I was a little kid.

Can you?

* * *

Oh God!

Peter is, miraculously, on his feet, stumbling toward the passages with... a blankness in his eyes that terrifies me--as much as the words he is uttering do.

"Come on, Mom..." His mother. His mother, a year dead now... Oh, God, is this how it happens? A million stories run through my head: people who saw loved ones as they passed on, people who had mothers and fathers and wives and husbands greet them at the time of their deaths... No...

"No, Peter..." I try to stop his forward motion, but he is stronger than he should be--stronger than he _could_ be right now. "Peter, please don't--"

The touch, frozen and reassuring all at once, glances across my forehead, down my cheek. My God, it's like...

"Which one, Mom?"

Mom? Mrs. Venkman? The feeling of her touch--a touch I felt only a few times before her death, but one I know instinctively... My God, I believed, but...

Peter is moving forward again, heading for the first of the passages. His eyes are blank--blind in a way that does not terrify him--and he stumbles roughly, his right arm held stiffly at his side as if...

As if she has hold of it.

"Peter?" My call is ignored, and I can do nothing but follow, providing what support I can. I lean over to check his wound... The bleeding has stopped, for now. But that shouldn't be, should it? Surely all this movement should have started it going again?

"Looked warm from the outside, Mom."

A reproach, childish in its delivery. He shivers beside me, and the torch I have managed to keep hold of shudders as fresh air hits it. It _is_ growing colder...

* * *

_Soon, dear... You'll be there soon..._

Isn't that what you always said when we went on trips? Visiting Aunt Carma always took forever, Mom. You _always_ said we'd be there soon.

Egon catches me as I trip a little. Damn. Clumsy, Venkman, really clumsy. Next thing you know, I'll trip over my own two feet... Wish I wasn't so damn tired--

"Peter!"

Ow. Ow. Fuck--sorry, Mom! Damn. Ask and you shall receive. Pete Venkman, flat on his ass. Damn my arm hurts! Come on, Mom. Work that famous Mom magic, okay? Make it go away... Please?

She lifts a hand to run across my forehead, soothing away the fever I can feel building there. Better... That's better, Mom.

_Peter, you have to get up..._

"No way, Mom... Too sick to go to school today..."

"Peter, please?"

Damn. Okay, Egon. I'm getting up. You happy?

_Soon, Peter... Soon..._

She takes my arm again, but it still hurts. "Got some aspirin, Mom?"

"I... My God, Peter! I can see the end... just a little further..."

That's what Mom said, Spengs. Soon...

* * *

I almost sob as Peter and I step through onto an untouched slope. Apparently the avalanche broke to one side completely, leaving this stretch of the mountain untouched. Very nearly at the end of my own strength, I walk forward, looking into the night sky. How long have we been here? My watch was destroyed by the branch that hit us--Peter's was as well. The sky is clear, though, and cold. And I can hear the sounds of industry nearby.

"Mom... freezing now..."

Peter's eyes are beginning to close as I sit him down. God, please! Mrs. Venkman? Are you here?

The ghost I've only half believed in brushes against my cheek again, though I barely feel it. I'm frozen through--but still much better off than Peter. If I don't find help soon--

"Can you...?" I close my eyes. I do believe in ghosts. I do, I do, I do... "Will you stay with him? Please? I must... find help."

A trick of the night--a sign of my own fatigue... She crouches at his other side, not solid--nowhere near--but there. Her hand rubs gently down his face, and he smiles dimly in response, breathing out the one word that has been his focus... "Mom..."

I want... No. I suppress the insistent urge to reach out--to touch her, to feel the reality of this spectre. There is no time left. If she will only...

Mrs. Venkman nods at me, her smile growing softly in the moonlight.

"Thank you," I whisper, gripping Peter's left hand once before I rise.

Without a backward glance, I run toward the sounds I heard as we emerged. Dear God, let them be close...

Let them be in time.

* * *

Where'd Egon go, Mom?

_He went to get help, honey. Just relax._

Okay... Mom?

_Yes, dear?_

I miss you. A lot.

_I know. I miss you too._

Did you... Did you like the roses?

She smiles. _I loved the roses, sweetie. Trust you to remember._

I never forget--not important things like that. I'll bring you some more... I promise.

 _I'll be waiting._ Her face gets sad, and I reach out to her, not quite catching her hand, though I can feel the coolness of it so close to me. _Peter... I love you, honey, you know that?_

Of course I do, Mom. I do. I don't even blame you for leaving. Not really.

_I had to._

I know. It's okay. I forgive you. But... Mom? Will you stay now?

Her hand caresses my forehead. _Of course, little man. I'll stay until you fall asleep._

Thanks, Mom...

And then she holds me, soft and cool and comforting. Like when I was a kid.

And I miss her...

* * *

I will never, ever be warm again.

And how much colder must Peter be, I wonder? He was unconscious when I returned, his face so very pale... My God, _why_ will someone not come in and tell me how he is?

"Egon!"

Ray is a bundle of frantic energy that I feel I am ill-prepared to deal with, though that feeling fades quickly as he embraces me, holding tight and providing more warmth than the numerous blankets they've draped me in.

"Gosh, Egon, we _saw_ it! We were down in the cabin, and--" He breathes deeply, pulling away to survey me with red eyes. "Gosh, we didn't know if..."

"Have you seen Peter?" I know Raymond is frightened, but I cannot hold my own worry in for him. It's been too long.

"He'll be okay, Egon, I promise." He takes a seat on the edge of my bed, unwilling to go as far as the chair beside it. "I talked to one of the nurses and she said he was in the ER still--they're setting his arm." He shudders once before a timid grin breaks through. "I'm so glad you guys are okay."

"We were... very lucky." I cannot bring myself to explain to him. Not now. Later, when Peter is finally well--when I have seen him for myself...

"Shelly's getting your stuff, Egon," he offers, still memorizing my features. "They said it was mostly kind of torn up, but I'm sure you're just freezing, and the sweater or something would--"

"Thank you, Ray." My comment stops him, and I reach out to squeeze his hand gently. "I _am_ all right, you know?"

His sigh takes a majority of his tension with it, and his smile is easier now. "I know. I know you are--and Peter will be, too. It's just..."

"I know, Raymond, I--"

"Egon, you're awake!" Shelly's bright comment causes me a moment of doubt.

"I wasn't asleep." Though, given the painkillers they've given me for my ribs, I may be, soon.

"I know, but I figured..." She shrugs, the mound of clothing in her hands shifting with her. "You're okay, right? That must have been horrible!"

I shudder from more than the pervasive cold. "It was."

"Well," she offers, giving me much-needed time to recover. "I got your stuff--and Peter's, too. His is pretty much toast." She drops the pile on the chair beside my bed, lifting out Peter's sweater. "What the hell did you guys get into in there, anyway? There's goop all over this thing."

Goop?

I grab it from her, ignoring the startled look she shares with Ray. There, on the shredded right sleeve, just where she held him...

"Ectoplasmic residue."

"What!?"

Raymond's startled cry pulls my eyes up to meet his. "She saved us."

"Who saved you?" His eyes have gone worried again. If he only understood... "Egon, I thought you didn't _get_ hit on the head!"

"I didn't, Ray. While we were in the cave, Peter's--"

"Got a visitor for you, Mr. Spengler."

"He's almost a doctor, now." Ray's correction gives me cause to smile. I am sure Peter will be as insufferable about the psychology doctorate he's started this year.

And--thank God--he _will_ finish it.

"Sorry, _Almost-Doctor_ Spengler." The nurse grins cheekily as she precedes a gurney carrying a very sleepy, very pale Peter into the room. "Just thought you'd like a bunkmate to keep you company."

"Hey, Spengs." His quiet voice, blurred by painkillers and exhaustion, is still amused and lucid and quite the most wonderful thing I've heard tonight. "How's it going?"

"I believe you owe the three of us dinner, Peter," I gloat softly as they lock the wheels of his gurney into place, setting his IV on the pole between our beds. "I _did_ get down the mountain before you, after all."

"No fair, Spengler," he mutters, already more than half asleep. "If Mom hadn't been there..."

His descent into slumber is too rapid for me to question him, but the deep, curious brown eyes Ray turns on me beg the complete story.

"His mom?" Ray whispers, watching Peter shift slightly in his sleep. "His _mom_ was there?"

With Peter whole, real, and healing by my side, I can finally allow the excitement to build. Raymond catches the light in my eyes, and grins broadly. My God, if we ever had any doubts before...

"It was really quite fascinating, Raymond..."

And, now that the nightmare is over, the dream of it really _is_.

* * *

A dozen roses. As promised.

I remember Mom's face when Charlie brought her roses. He only did it twice, that I could remember, but they made her... glow. I used to bring them, too, when she was in the hospital... She was always so glad to get them--how could she think I'd forget?

I look down at the headstone, brushing away a little of the snow that's gathered--at least as well as I can with one hand. Not all of it, though. Mom loved snow. Not avalanches, of course, but...

"Hey, Mom? How's it going?" I smile, looking down at the words lined in silver: Patricia Venkman--devoted wife and mother. "You sent Egon into labrat heaven, you know? He'll be thinking up a way to _track_ ghosts next."

I adjust my sling, looking over my shoulder at Egon and Ray, as they stand quietly by the car. "Mom... I don't know if that was you--I don't know if what I remember is real... But I do know that _something_ saved me. Something that felt like you..." My throat's too tight for this. Damn cold. Lucky I didn't get pneumonia up there. "And I meant what I said, Mom. I don't blame you for leaving. I... I know you had to." My face is wet, but I don't bother to wipe the tears away. Mom was the only one I could ever cry in front of, anyway. At least until the guys. "And at least you waited till I had Egon and Ray. They take good care of me, Mom."

I can almost hear her now: _Enough moping, Peter. Get on with life. Do everything we always talked about. Make me proud._

"I will, Mom. I promise."

The roses spread out on the snow, the color giving her grave a little life. Like she gave me life--at least once.

I know Egon wants to call this an etheric visit--aid from beyond the grave--and I'll let him, just this once.

All I know, Mom, is that I got to tell you again how much I loved you. Even if it wasn't you--even if it was blood loss and broken bones and busted heads that did it... At least I got to tell you that.

And whatever happened--whoever helped--it saved my life. I turn to see my two best buddies, watching me with all the concern you always showed. Yep, they take good care of me, Mom. And with their help, I might just be able to make you proud.

Because God knows I couldn't do it without them.

* * *  
The End


End file.
